over the teacups- 第8部分

years。　　The　old　man　is　less　disposed　to　argue　about　special　matters

of　belief；　and　more　ready　to　sympathize　with　spiritually　minded

persons　without　anxious　questioning　as　to　the　fold　to　which　they

belong。　　That　kindly　judgment　which　he　exercises　with　regard　to

others　he　will；　naturally　enough；　apply　to　himself。　　The　caressing

tone　in　which　the　Emperor　Hadrian　addresses　his　soul　is　very　much

like　that　of　an　old　person　talking　with　a　grandchild　or　some　other

pet：

　　　　〃Animula；　vagula；　blandula；

　　　　　Hospes　comesque　corporis。〃



　　　　〃Dear　little；　flitting；　pleasing　sprite；

　　　　　The　body's　comrade　and　its　guest。〃



How　like　the　language　of　Catullus　to　Lesbia's　sparrow！





More　and　more　the　old　man　finds　his　pleasures　in　memory；　as　the

present　becomes　unreal　and　dreamlike；　and　the　vista　of　his　earthly

future　narrows　and　closes　in　upon　him。　　At　last；　if　he　live　long

enough；　life　comes　to　be　little　more　than　a　gentle　and　peaceful

delirium　of　pleasing　recollections。　　To　say；　as　Dante　says；　that

there　is　no　greater　grief　than　to　remember　past　happiness　in　the　hour

of　misery　is　not　giving　the　whole　truth。　　In　the　midst　of　the　misery；

as　many　would　call　it；　of　extreme　old　age；　there　is　often　a　divine

consolation　in　recalling　the　happy　moments　and　days　and　years　of

times　long　past。　　So　beautiful　are　the　visions　of　bygone　delight　that

one　could　hardly　wish　them　to　become　real；　lest　they　should　lose

their　ineffable　charm。　　I　can　almost　conceive　of　a　dozing　and　dreamy

centenarian　saying　to　one　he　loves；　〃Go；　darling；　go！　　Spread　your

wings　and　leave　me。　　So　shall　you　enter　that　world　of　memory　where

all　is　lovely。　　I　shall　not　hear　the　sound　of　your　footsteps　any

more；　but　you　will　float　before　me；　an　aerial　presence。　　I　shall　not

hear　any　word　from　your　lips；　but　I　shall　have　a　deeper　sense　of　your

nearness　to　me　than　speech　can　give。　　I　shall　feel；　in　my　still

solitude；　as　the　Ancient　Mariner　felt　when　the　seraph　band　gathered

before　him：



　　　〃'No　voice　did　they　impart

　　　　　No　voice；　but　oh！　the　silence　sank

　　　　　Like　music　on　my　heart。'〃



I　said　that　the　lenient　way　in　which　the　old　look　at　the　failings　of

others　naturally　leads　them　to　judge　themselves　more　charitably。

They　find　an　apology　for　their　short…comings　and　wrong…doings　in

another　consideration。　　They　know　very　well　that　they　are　not　the

same　persons　as　the　middle…aged　individuals；　the　young　men；　the　boys；

the　children；　that　bore　their　names；　and　whose　lives　were　continuous

with　theirs。　　Here　is　an　old　man　who　can　remember　the　first　time　he

was　allowed　to　go　shooting。　　What　a　remorseless　young　destroyer　he

was；　to　be　sure！　　Wherever　he　saw　a　feather；　wherever　a　poor　little

squirrel　showed　his　bushy　tail；　bang！　went　the　old　〃king's　arm；〃　and

the　feathers　or　the　fur　were　set　flying　like　so　much　chaff。　　Now　that

same　old　man；the　mortal　that　was　called　by　his　name　and　has　passed

for　the　same　person　for　some　scores　of　years；is　considered　absurdly

sentimental　by　kind…hearted　women；　because　he　opens　the　fly…trap　and

sets　all　its　captives　free；out…of…doors；　of　course；　but　the　dear

souls　all　insisting；　meanwhile；　that　the　flies　will；　every　one　of

them；　be　back　again　in　the　house　before　the　day　is　over。　　Do　you

suppose　that　venerable　sinner　expects　to　be　rigorously　called　to

account　for　the　want　of　feeling　he　showed　in　those　early　years；　when

the　instinct　of　destruction；　derived　from　his　forest…roaming

ancestors；　led　him　to　acts　which　he　now　looks　upon　with　pain　and

aversion？



〃Senex〃　has　seen　three　generations　grow　up；　the　son　repeating　the

virtues　and　the　failings　of　the　father；　the　grandson　showing　the　same

characteristics　as　the　father　and　grandfather。　　He　knows　that　if　such

or　such　a　young　fellow　had　lived　to　the　next　stage　of　life　he　would

very　probably　have　caught　up　with　his　mother's　virtues；　which；　like　a

graft　of　a　late　fruit　on　an　early　apple　or　pear　tree；　do　not　ripen　in

her　children　until　late　in　the　season。　　He　has　seen　the　successive

ripening　of　one　quality　after　another　on　the　boughs　of　his　own　life；

and　he　finds　it　hard　to　condemn　himself　for　faults　which　only　needed

time　to　fall　off　and　be　succeeded　by　better　fruitage。　　I　cannot　help

thinking　that　the　recording　angel　not　only　drops　a　tear　upon　many　a

human　failing；　which　blots　it　out　forever；　but　that　he　hands　many　an

old　record…book　to　the　imp　that　does　his　bidding；　and　orders　him　to

throw　that　into　the　fire　instead　of　the　sinner　for　whom　the　little

wretch　had　kindled　it。



〃And　pitched　him　in　after　it；　I　hope；〃　said　Number　Seven；　who　is　in

some　points　as　much　of　an　optimist　as　any　one　among　us；　in　spite　of

the　squint　in　his　brain；or　in　virtue　of　it；　if　you　choose　to　have

it　so。



〃I　like　Wordsworth's　'Matthew；'〃　said　Number　Five；　〃as　well　as　any

picture　of　old　age　I　remember。〃



〃Can　you　repeat　it　to　us？〃　asked　one　of　The　Teacups。



〃I　can　recall　two　verses　of　it；〃　said　Number　Five；　and　she　recited

the　two　following　ones。　　Number　Five　has　a　very　sweet　voice。　　The

moment　she　speaks　all　the　faces　turn　toward　her。　　I　don't　know　what

its　secret　is；　but　it　is　a　voice　that　makes　friends　of　everybody。



　　　〃'The　sighs　which　Matthew　heaved　were　sighs

　　　　　Of　one　tired　out　with　fun　and　madness；

　　　　　The　tears　which　came　to　Matthew's　eyes

　　　　　Were　tears　of　light；　the　dew　of　gladness。



　　　〃'Yet；　sometimes；　when　the　secret　cup

　　　　　Of　still　and　serious　thought　went　round；

　　　　　It　seemed　as　if　he　drank　it　up；

　　　　　He　felt　with　spirit　so　profound：'



〃This　was　the　way　in　which　Wordsworth　paid　his　tribute　to　a



　　　〃'Soul　of　God's　best　earthly　mould。'〃



The　sweet　voice　left　a　trance…like　silence　after　it；　which　may　have

lasted　twenty　heart…beats。　　Then　I　said；　We　all　thank　you　for　your

charming　quotation。　　How　much　more　wholesome　a　picture　of　humanity

than　such　stuff　as　the　author　of　the　〃Night　Thoughts〃　has　left　us：



　　　　〃Heaven's　Sovereign　saves　all　beings　but　Himself

　　　　　That　hideous　sight；　a　naked　human　heart。〃



Or　the　author　of　〃Don　Juan；〃　telling　us　to　look　into



　　　　〃Man's　heart；　and　view　the　hell　that's　there！　〃



I　hope　I　am　quoting　correctly；　but　I　am　more　of　a　scholar　in

Wordsworth　than　in　Byron。　　Was　Parson　Young's　own　heart　such　a

hideous　spectacle　to　himself？



If　it　was；　he　had　better　have　stripped　off　his　surplice。　　No；it　was

nothing　but　the　cant　of　his　calling。　　In　Byron　it　was　a　mood；　and　he

might　have　said　just　the　opposite　thing　the　next　day；　as　he　did　in

his　two　descriptions　of　the　Venus　de'　Medici。　　That　picture　of　old

Matthew　abides　in　the　memory；　and　makes　one　think　better　of　his　kind。

What　nobler　tasks　has　the　poet　than　to　exalt　the　idea　of　manhood；　and

to　make　the　world　we　live　in　more　beautiful？



We　have　two　or　three　young　people　with　us　who　stand　a　fair　chance　of

furnishing　us　the　element　without　which　life　and　tea…tables　alike　are

wanting　in　interest。　　We　are　all；　of　course；　watching　them；　and

curious　to　know　whether　we　are　to　have　a　romance　or　not。　　Here　is　one

of　them；　others　will　show　themselves　presently。



I　cannot　say　just　how　old　the　Tutor　is；　but　I　do　not　detect　a　gray

hair　in　his　head。　　My　sight　is　not　so　good　as　it　was；　however；　and　he

may　have　turned　the　sharp　corner　of　thirty；　and　even　have　left　it　a

year　or　two　behind　him。　　More　probably　he　is　still　in　the　twenties；

say　twenty…eight　or　twenty…nine。　　He　seems　young；　at　any　rate；

excitable；　enthusiastic；　imaginative；　but　at　the　same　time　reserved。

I　am　afraid　that　he　is　a　poet。　　When　I　say　〃I　am　afraid；〃　you　wonder

what　I　mean　by　the　expression。　　I　may　take　another　opportunity　to

explain　and　justify　it；　I　will　only　say　now　that　I　consider　the　Muse

the　most　dangerous　of　sirens　to　a　young　man　who　has　his　way　to　make

in　the　world。　　Now　this　young　man；　the　Tutor；　has；　I　believe；　a

future　before　him。　　He　was　born　for　a　philosopher；so　I　read　his

horoscope；but　he　has　a　great　liking　for　poetry　and　can　write　well

in　verse。　　We　have　had　a　number　of　poems　offered　for　our

entertainment；　which　I　have　commonly　been　requested　to　read。　　There

has　been　some　little　mystery　about　their　authorship；　but　it　is

evident　that　they　are　not　all　from　the　same　hand。　　Poetry　is　as

contagious　as　measles；　and　if　a　single　case　of　it　break　out　in　any

social　circle；　or　in　a　school；　there　are　certain　to　be　a　number　of

similar　cases；　some　slight；　some　serious；　and　now　and　then　one　so

malignant　that　the　subject　of　it　should　be　put　on　a　spare　diet　of

stationery；　say　from　two　to　three　penfuls　of　ink　and　a　half　sheet　of

notepaper　per　diem。　　If　any　of　our　poetical　contributions　are

presentable；　the　reader　shall　have　a　chance　to　see　them。



It　must　be　understood　that　our　company　is　not　invariably　made　up　of

the　same　persons。　　The　Mistress；　as　we　call　her；　is　expected　to　be

always　in　her　place。　　I　make　it　a　rule　to　be　present。　　The　Professor

is　almost　as　sure　to　be　at　the　table　as　I　am。　　We　should　hardly　know

what　to　do　without　Number　Five。　　It　takes　a　good　deal　of　tact　to

handle　such　a　little　assembly　as　ours；　which　is　a　republic　on　a　small

scale；　for　all　that　they　give　me　the　title　of　Dictator；　and　Number

Five　is　a　great　help　in　every　social　emergency。　　She　sees　when　a

discussion　tends　to　become　personal；　and　heads　off　the　threatening

antagonists。　　She　knows　when　a　subject　has　been　knocking　about　long

enough　and　dexterously　shifts　the　talk　to　another　track。　　It　is　true

that　I　am　the　one　most　frequently　appealed　to　as　the　highest　tribunal

in　doubtful　cases；　but　I　often　care　more　for　Number　Five's　opinion

than　I　do　for　my　own。　　Who　is　this　Number　Five；　so　fascinating；　so

wise；　so　full　of　knowledge；　and　so　ready　to　learn？　　She　is　suspected

of　being　the　anonymous　author　of　a　book　which　produced　a　sensation

when　published；　not　very　long　ago；　and　which　those　who　read　are　very

apt　to　read　a　second　time；　and　to　leave　on　their　tables　for　frequent

reference。　　But　we　have　never　aske